


Close to home

by Eryn



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BDSM, Dinner, Kink, Kink Negotiation, Kneeling, M/M, Non-Sexual Kink, Riding Crop, Sex Club, Spanking, oblivious!John, sub!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-02 18:12:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 22,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eryn/pseuds/Eryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The whole fiasco with Irene had hit a little close to home.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>And then they invaded the military base on Mycroft’s credentials and John pulled rank on the first person they met. And he enjoyed it.</i>
</p><p>- Sherlock is not sure how to deal with the emotions and memories coming up. Especially once he finds hinself attracted to his flatmate, who, of course, notices nothing.</p><p>Set after The Hounds of Baskerville.<br/>spoilers for A Scandal in Belgravia and The Hounds of Baskerville.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Origin

The whole fiasco with Irene had hit a little close to home. Laying there, on his back, panting, the gentle trail of a crop down his cheek, the sweet words from The Woman; everything pushed him back and down and under, back to the time before cocaine, where he tried to fight boredom with pain and pleasure, with whips and chains.

It hadn’t worked out, of course, just like the cocaine hadn’t. He had been able to go through the motions all right, but most Doms weren’t interested in him and he wasn’t interested in subs. When he wanted a problem to solve he’d just visit the morgue or the Yard. No, he wanted to detach for a while, bring his mind to a full-stop, the freight-train to a stand-still. But few Doms had really brought him down. They’d all been playing too much, focusing too much on what they should do and not on what they were doing. There had always been hints, bloody obvious hints on what they liked and what they wanted from you and what they’d do next. No oblivion for Sherlock when all he could do was anticipate the next blow three moves in advance.

Those he’d finally gone under for had never tried again, claiming he was too much work for what they got out of it. And of course then came the white goddess and he stopped trying.

But now the door was open, his mind palace invaded and his eyes picking up so much more clues than before. Unfortunately it was a small consolation to know that Anderson liked to crawl after Sergeant Donovan. After all no matter how small the amount of tact he usually displayed, the club rules were clear on one thing. No matter what happens inside, you don’t talk about it outside. And knowing that their latest client liked to humiliate his wife was uninteresting until they were tasked with finding said wife. Then it became boring and he told the man he might want to prepare for the divorce papers arriving by courier before he send him away.

He didn’t seem able to put everything back in the room. Sherlock spend hours thinking, going through room after room to find the implements hidden, to rip the screaming blanket from the couch and throw it back into the room with the curtain of whips and the club membership card. But as soon as he turned around something new had popped up in some other part of the palace and when he returned to store it away the room was open once more. Like Pandora’s box it was unleashing its content on his mind and Sherlock couldn’t bring order into things again. He couldn’t even properly place the stuff in other rooms. No, one day the crop laid on a side table in the library, the next day that place was taken up by a pair of handcuffs while the crop hung from a hook in the kitchen, only to be replaced overnight by a length of rope…  
It left him sleepless and disoriented as he tried to sort it out. The train of his mind was going at full speed again, with nothing to fuel it but Sherlock’s flesh, all burning up with the need to think, to process. It felt like it was heading for a wall, a thick, high, brick wall that would shatter the train and leave the flesh empty.

Luckily before that could happen Henry arrived and brought a new case, something that managed to focus him, give them train fodder and tracks to run on, the whips pushed to the back, their location unimportant for the time being.

Until they invaded the military base on Mycroft’s credentials and John pulled rank on the first person they met. And he enjoyed it. Sherlock felt his knees go weak instantly. But no, they had a role to play. So Sherlock kept walking and only uncoupling one waggon, gave it an engine of its own, and made it run after John, follow his compassionate friend with a waggon full of whips and chains, of etiquette and labels.  
And once they returned home he locked himself in his room to go over its content, to touch each item, see how it had changed after being in contact with John for so long, how his mind had adjusted to watching John in this context.


	2. The Verdict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock takes time to evaluate the new informations, completely unnerving John in the process.

Sherlock knew he was unnerving John. The case was over and he usually dropped into depressive boredom on day two, but here he was, four days after they’d returned home, in a mindset John had never seen before.   
It was the calm introverted thinking position he had taken most of his teen years, where his own body and mind where the biggest riddles he had to solve. He’d spend years cataloguing his responses to various stimuli, from alcohol over sex to classical music and the sight of his brother. He’d sat for hours, making up the palace, furnishing it with everything, paying special attention to the body room, the engine in the basement that formed the foundation and made up the outer walls of his palace. He’d strengthened it and optimised it and he knew it inside out. Sherlock never abandoned his body, the vessel for his mind. He just knew its limitations intimately well. He knew when to nourish it and when to exercise it, he knew when he could slack and starve it, and he used all this knowledge for optimal efficiency.

But at Baskerville he’d found a new stimulus in the form of John. Not as the nuisance he was whenever he tried to get Sherlock to eat when he didn’t need to, or to sleep when he should think. Not as the helpful servant he was whenever they were out on a case; headstrong, but still a servant, pledged to the purpose of getting everyone safe, everything right, eager to support Sherlock in his endeavours, even when they brought him in conflict with the law.  
No, the new stimulus was John the dominant, the part that was made up by a mix of soldier and doctor, expecting to be obeyed, knowing what was best for their partner. And now that he started looking at him in that light Sherlock couldn’t lock him out again. The part in his palace reserved for his roommate evolved and expanded to fit this new person, easily mixing gun, paddle and scalpel into a place that was completely John.

And as he catalogued his own reactions he found himself complying more easily, which was uneasy all in itself. He still argued for the sake of being right, he didn’t change his habits and his experiments, because that was something he’d never give up. Not for any Dom in the world. Plus, John didn’t want him to give it up. He just wanted for Sherlock to eat regular meals and get at least 6 hours of sleep at night and to not shoot at the wall again. Of course the last remark was ridiculous, but Sherlock found himself using a sling instead of a gun the next time the urge hit. He could rationalise it easy enough, give a stuck-up response that got him a glare and hard remark before John shook his head and went to put whatever he’d gotten into the fridge.

Sherlock also found himself getting to bed earlier. Or at least he decided to allow himself to sleep more. A few hours here, half an hour there, enough that when John told him to sleep more he could tell him he had gotten exactly 6.25 hours of sleep yesterday, so John should stop bothering him.

Of course John didn’t, but that was kind of the point. John didn’t grow tired of him. John didn’t care that Sherlock was a bit of a slob whose work was taking up all of the flat and who had no interest in being considerate of his flatmate's sensibilities. John wasn’t above retaliating when Sherlock broke some unspoken arbitrary rule John thought Sherlock should know. John was perfectly happy to row with him, vent his temper on Sherlock, take his scathing remarks only to come back with more anger. And once his mood was soothed he could go back to the caring doctor and ask if he needed something from Tesco’s because he was going out now before he did something he’d regret later.

They were like ideal matches, a perfect fit in everything. Only that John was apparently a firm believer in his heterosexuality and most likely not interested in adding whips into the mix. But Sherlock also wasn’t sure if he wanted to tip their delicate balance like that. He could after all not be sure how John would react to the new stimulus of having power of Sherlock. Right now he believed that it was only his persistent pressure keeping Sherlock from killing himself. But what if he thought Sherlock would be best served with strict rules? What if John wanted to govern where it was not his place to lead? What if he wanted to expand his reach and dip his fingers into The Work?

He spend another fitful three days on the problem, glaring and raging and angering John out of the flat so often the older threatened to simply move out since Sherlock clearly didn’t want him around. But as usual he was back by nightfall with take-away and milk and a stern reminder to get out and get milk next time he emptied the carton. Which started a new argument, since Sherlock had not emptied the carton. He’d voluntarily spoilt its contents and then put in the freezer to observe the speed of growth of that particular bacteria at sub-zero-temperature.

Three days of thinking mixed with a new case brought him the revelation that no, John would not interfere in his work. He had too much respect for Sherlock in that regard. He was always ready to argue the risks, but he never tried to force the issue and usually went along with whatever seemingly lunatic plan Sherlock came up with. Which meant that this could actually work.

Now to get John to agree upon that point.


	3. Ethan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is still trying to figure out how to breach the topic with John, when a chance litterally drops into his lap...or rather stumbles into the clinic. But he won't be picky.

The first chance to educate John came two weeks later, when John called him to come to the clinic. Someone with rope burn and whip marks who insisted it was all consensual. He couldn’t really believe his luck as he caught a cab and went to the clinic, breezed past Sarah in his usual efficiency and then burst into the examination room, where a cute 20something sub was making starry eyes at John. Which absolutely wouldn’t do. At least John seemed oblivious and kept trying to reason with the boy while he carefully applied salve to welts and rope-burn. He didn’t even flinch when the door burst open. He just told Sherlock to please close it again.

Of course Sherlock did just that, if a bit more forceful than needed, while his eyes already catalogued the boy. Height and weight first, then position of marks, hairstyle, clothes, the shape of the brand and he startled both of them with the simple comment that came next.

“I didn’t know Cameron still branded”

John, of course, was shocked into silence, while the boy looked at him with a mix of awe and sheepishness at meeting someone ‘in the know’.

“What do you mean, Cameron? Are you implying you know the man who did this? This is abuse Sherlock!”, John exclaimed. The tone and exclamation showed it was the beginning of a tirade of likely epic proportion, so Sherlock quickly intervened.

He held up a hand to keep the boy for arguing again before he focused his attention on John.

“It is not, John. Don’t be ridiculous. Cameron does it in consensual scenes with a doctor on hand in a special room designed for such play. He likes to play rough and finds partners to compliment his preferences. Now give him that prescription he needs and send him on his way.”

John hesitated a moment before picking up the prescription pad, eyes fixed on the boy as he wrote.

“You will apply the salve three times a day. No washing of the area until the infection has gone down. You will come down in three days so I can have a look at those brands and you will tell this Master of yours he ought to be more careful with his whip. One of those welts on your thigh is awfully close to getting infected as well.”, he said sternly, to which the boy just nodded, wide eyed, gaze going back and forth between John and Sherlock, trying to figure out just what their relationship was. He was falling short, of course. There was no relationship the boy could see. And Sherlock didn’t have any of the usual submissive tells. No smiling, no deference, no lowered gaze. And John might have all the traits a dominant should have, but that could all be the job speaking.

Sherlock watched John pin the boy with another hard stare, all but willing him to speak up, admit he was being abused, anything to put his world on the right angle again. But instead he took the prescription with a relieved smile and a nod.

“Yes, sir. Thanks for seeing me, sir”, he said before picking up his jacket and leaving. 

Sherlock kept observing as John sat there a few moments, processing everything that had just happened, before turning to Sherlock.

“I need to get back to work now. But you better be prepared to explain this later, in detail”, he said firmly. He was willing to accept Sherlock’s opinion on the boy’s relationship. But he would not remain ignorant on the topic.

“Or?”, Sherlock asked, unable to help himself. He loved baiting John and he knew there was next to no leverage the older had over him in such situations. It was completely in his power to grant John the information he wanted. Of course John knew how to use a search-engine, but Sherlock knew he preferred to have Sherlock tell him.

“Or I will find this Cameron person and have him explain it”, John replied, “I’m sure Ethan would introduce us.” The words had the colour drain from Sherlock’s face, but he nodded curtly and pushed away from the wall.

“Well, I better get going then”, Sherlock said, leaving as quickly as he’d arrived. There was no way he’d let Cameron be the one to teach John. John was his.


	4. The Stage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock arrives home and sets preparations in motion to be ready for John's arrival, it doesn't have the desired effect.
> 
> _virtual baked goods to the first one who can tell what scene I thought of while writing this ;)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short part today. Long talk tomorrow

At home he spend half an hour writing a strongly worded email to Cameron threatening dire consequences if he told John anything. He hadn’t had contact with the older dominant for a few years now, but he was sure the address was still accurate.  
He was also convinced that Cameron still remembered him, as he was rather memorable and they’d had more than one row at the club. It had all ended rather amicable once they’d finally settled on a scene that would work for both of them, but as usual when Sherlock found someone to scene with it had been a one time effort. At that time it had already been a feat when the dominant in question was willing to talk to him afterwards.

Once the message was delivered he spend a bit of time browsing the web and finding the right sides if John was interested in additional reading material. He easily weeded out wrong, stupid and uninformative sites until he had a short list that would give John all the information he might want. He bookmarked them in John’s preferred browser and then shut the laptop down again. If that proved ineffective he also had a pile of well thumbed volumes stacked in his bedroom, but he didn’t want to give them out just now. They were his personal volumes after all, with more than enough notes in the margins for John to be able to retrace every scene he’d ever had. And as he had heard often enough from John, bringing up past lovers in conversation was bad etiquette.

After he’d done that he laid on the couch and waited, mind whirling through all the possible ways this little talk of their would go and how he could push it in the right direction. The one where he could tell John what he’d observed and what it could mean for their future together.

Finally he settled on unsettling John, which meant having a freshly prepared pot of tea waiting, no sugar in John’s cup and three cubes in his own, with a tray of biscuits he’d gotten from Mrs. Hudson. It was quite amusing to see John open the door. Then close it again before opening it anew, as if the sight of Sherlock Holmes waiting for you with tea prepared was a Fata Morgana. Then he huffed and came inside, giving Sherlock time to noticed all the small details telling him how unsettled John still was, not only because of the picture he presented, but also about what happened at work. He had smudges and abrasions that spoke of spilt disinfectant and dropped lunch and all those other small mishaps that usually happened when one was elsewhere in his mind and still stupidly attempted to move around.

He didn’t comment on any of these things though, watching instead as John hung up his coat and put down his bag and finally settled down in his armchair, hands folded in his lap as he watched Sherlock pour and then hold out the tea for him.

“Thank you, Sherlock”, John said, watching his friend closely as he poured tea into his own cup and began stirring it. “To what do I owe this?”

Sherlock smiled faintly at the question and took a sip of his tea, before putting the cup down again.

“You said I had to explain. So I thought we might as well be comfortable for it. We’ll likely be here for a while.”

“So you, the man who can’t fetch his phone from his own pocket, made tea and biscuits?”, John asked disbelievingly, to which Sherlock shook his head in obvious amusement.

“Don’t be stupid, John. Mrs. Hudson prepared the biscuits. I only prepared the tea.”

“What is this? A peace offering? An attempt to unsettle me so you don’t have to explain? Some elaborate experiment on my behaviour in the face of madness?”, John asked, frowning.

Sherlock sighed and slouched back in his chair. This wasn’t going as planned.

“It is an attempt to relax you for the conversation, John. I will refrain from doing it in the future”, he said curtly, tightly holding onto his cup.

“No, no. Feel free to prepare tea whenever you want. It’s just unusual, is all. Now you promised me some explanations”, John said, to which Sherlock just nodded.

“It would be best if you just asked what you wanted to know. It will be much easier than me referring on the subject, as it might take me a few days to present every piece of information you might be interested in”


	5. The Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets to ask questions and Sherlock manages to drive him mad in 3 seconds. It might be a new record.
> 
> _almost dialogue only. The long talk._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't noticed yet, I only mostly know what I'm talk about. I have read book on the topic, as well as have my own non normative relationship with my boyfriend. But I have yet to man up and go to a meet or a club, so please keep in mind that this is not reality and there might be mistakes/assumptions made that don't quite display reality. (especially important for later chapters)

“Okay then. How do you know this Cameron person?”

“Wrong”

“What?”

“Wrong question.”

“It’s the one I asked. Answer it”

“Intimately”

“That’s not what I mean!”

“It’s what you asked. How do I know him? I know him intimately.”

“Bloody hell, Sherlock. Don’t be difficult. You know what I meant with the question!”

“I’m not being difficult. I told you it was the wrong question for the answer you were looking for. Now ask again”

“When did you meet him?”

“Much better. I met him when I was 21.”

“Where?”

“At a Club called Clandestine”

“And what kind of club is that?”

“A Club for what is referred to as kinky sex.”

“And you went there, at 21, to have kinky sex?”

“Yes.”

“And you met Cameron”

“Yes”

“Elaborate”

“That’s not a question, John”

“It’s a request, Sherlock. Now if you please”

“As you wish. I had been there for a few evening already and Cameron entered without a submissive. I approached him in hopes of a scene. He refused but agreed to negotiate for a scene to take place at some other time.”

“Hang on. Are you trying to tell me that you, Sherlock Holmes, are actually submissive?”

John could barely contain his amusement at the implication.

“Yes. I am sexually submissive.”

They got to this point faster than Sherlock had expected, but he wasn’t about to complain.

“I am not submissive outside the bedroom, but I am perfectly content to submit in scenes”

“I find that hard to believe”

“My sexuality is not for you to question. Now go on asking”

“Hmm… give me a few moments to think of something”

Sherlock just nodded and they spend a few minutes drinking tea, Sherlock expertly refilling John’s cup once it was empty, which started the discussion anew.

“Okay…I think I can see that submissive thing. Though I have to say it’s a bit creepy. What was it you negotiated with Cameron?”

“Various things. How he was permitted to hurt me, if he was allowed to leave marks, what form of restraints I would agree to, what I should call him, what he would call me, if there would be sex, what our Safewords would be, where we would scene, when we would scene.”

“What’s a Safeword?”

“A code word to be used in scenes by the parties involved in case a personal limit is crossed. There are usually two words. A Stop-word to end the scene and a Slow-down-word to call a short break.”

“And such a scene is?”

“Anything you could imagine. For Cameron and me it consisted of me being tied up and him hurting me. For Sargent Donovan it’s having Anderson crawl through her livingroom. For Ethan it’s every moment of every day with the knowledge that Cameron is controlling it”

“Waitwaitwait! What do you mean Sally and Anderson?!”

“Don’t look surprised. You already know they’re having sex. Do you really take Sally for a woman who’d just spread her legs for a man like Anderson?”

“I guess not…but still…how do you know that? How can you just say that?”

“It’s obvious, John. Carpet burn on his hands, abrasion at the knees of his pants, a slight lowering of his eyes when they are alone.”

“Okay. I think I can follow you there. It still isn’t something I’d have wanted to know about them…”

“…”

“So Cameron is a sadist?”

“Yes”

“Anything else? Any other labels you would use for him?”

“Controlling. Dominant. Stern. Bisexual. Male. Office worker. 1,85. Brown eyes. Toned body. Pale skin. Fairly well endowed. Exclusive. Should I go on?”

“N-no. That will be enough. Why did it not work out?”

“He wanted too much control about me outside of scenes. For long term relationships he insists on a 24/7 arrangement, which I was not willing to provide. He also wanted a contract and to add a second, female, submissive.”

“So you ended it”

“No. We never got to a stage where he would consider offering the contact for such a relationship.”

“What is this contract?”

“A written agreement between two or more participants listing rules, time frame and conditions for relationships.”

“And what is a normal time frame for stuff like that?”

“It can be everything from one day to infinity. Normal ranges are three months, a year, two years, 5 years, 10 years, depending on how committed you are to your relationship or if you want to test the waters first”

“Did you ever have such a contract?”

“Yes. I signed a week long contract once”

“What was it about?”

“A week of vacation with a dom I was seeing at that time. It governed my actions as well as limits during that week. It was limited to one week and included a number of reasons for which the contract could be terminated early.”

“It didn’t govern his actions?”

“He was free to do as he pleased as long as he stayed in the limits stated. That’s what submission is about, John.”

“What? Letting someone do as he please with your body and call it consensual?”

“Don’t be dense, John. It is consensual. The limits set can be as rigid as you want them to be. Everything left out is per definition permitted. You don’t ask your _girlfriends_ if they are content with you fucking them, and if they would be okay with you fellating them at this moment, do you? Just like they don’t ask you if you would like a blow job or not. They assume it is permitted since it is considered normal bedroom behaviour. They trust that you will state your dislike of the action, should the need arise. It’s the same here. The submissive just lays down the rules before and refuses in advance things he wouldn’t agree to in a scene. This way the dominant doesn’t have to worry about crossing a boundary and instead can focus on finding actions that will bring both participants most pleasure.”

“…”

“…”

“Okay. Name a few limits”

“That’s not a question”

“Hn… What are your limits?”

“I didn’t know you were interested in going there. Hard limits are Permanent marks, injuries that take more than a week to heal, Scat, Water sports, Humiliation, Sounding and Women. Soft limits include needles, weights, role play and house work.”

“You can put ‘Women’ as a limit?”

“Of course I can.”

“Why?”

“Because there are few things that turn me off faster.”

“So you’re gay”

“Yes. Next question”

“What’s the different between a hard and a soft limit?”

“Hard limits are things I refuse to participate in. Soft limits are things I might agree to based on context and partner. Soft limits are those that can be tested and pushed, while hard limits are not to be touched”

“Okay. So you refuse to do house work, but might do it if the context is right?”

“Don’t repeat me. Ask a question”

“Give me a few minutes.”

They made it through two more cups of tea with John thinking everything over and Sherlock observing him. He could almost follow John’s trail of thoughts, jumping from one information to another, moving through his memories of things he’d seen and heard, trying to form the big picture. Still the question that came out of John’s mouth surprised him.

“Why do you tell me all this?”

“I agreed to answer your questions on the topic”

“Is that the only reason?”

Honesty…he’d promised John honesty…or at least he’d promised himself he’d be honest with John in relation to this topic. It was important to be honest here if he wanted anything to come out of it.

“No.”

“What is the other reason?”

I am attracted to you because you are a dominant that does it to me in every possible way and I’m interested in getting you to scene with me since I am sure you can take me out of my head.

“You are a dominant and should know stuff like that”

“What do you mean, I’m a dominant? I have not had anything but vanilla sex in my life!”

“That you know the term vanilla already tells me enough. You know, or at least guess, what’s out there, and it’s your loss that you haven’t embraced your dynamics yet. Though it might explain why your relationships usually end the way they do”

“What does it have to do with my relationships?”

“Most of your _girlfriends_ were either vanilla or dominant as well. There was no way you could have satisfying sex. And since for most people sex is an important part of a long term relationship there was no way it could last”

“Why do you think I’m a dominant?”

“You like order in your life, rules and expectations to be followed. If you give an order you expect it to be obeyed, no matter if it’s in the field, your job, or here at home. You come on to others as someone in control of things. You don’t like it when I disregard your instructions or intrude upon your order of things. You still attempt to educate me on proper behaviour and think that one day you will manage to finally teach me something.”

“So you are implying that I have tried to, what, dominate you ever since I moved in, simply based on the fact that I don’t put up with your bullshit?”

“Yes. A submissive person wouldn’t have tried and most vanillas wouldn’t have know what to do at all. Yet you know when and how to push to get the desired results”

“I don’t feel like having gotten any results at all.”

“Then you might want to talk to the Inspector and Mrs. Hudson. They’ll tell you that I have changed my behaviour since you arrived. They are both, I presume, quite grateful for your ‘calming’ influence”

“So your only reason to give me all this was that you think life will be easier for me now that I know I am a dominant?”

“……No”  
Damn you, honesty.

“Then what other reason do you have? And please list all of them now, instead of letting me stumble upon them one at a time!”

I am attracted to you.  
I want you to scene with me.  
I want you to fuck me.  
I want to introduce you to Cameron and show him that there is a dominant for me after all.  
I want to be yours so that my mind will bloody shut up once in a while.  
I want …

“I want you. I am attracted to you and I hope this won’t scare you away as I have come to rely on you and it would be a shame to have to find a new flat mate.”

“You do realise that I am not gay, right?”

“I know that you are attracted to women. I don’t know if you are also attracted to men. I also know that scenes don’t have to be sexual.”

“…”

“You don’t have to respond. I took the liberty to install some bookmarks on your laptop.”

“You stole it again, Sherlock”

“I used it to give you access to more information, guiding you to pages that are actually useful and not full of nonsense”

John shook his head as he watched Sherlock get up and pick up his violin. It seemed like there was no arguing or further questioning of Sherlock until he’d at least glanced at these pages. Which was for the better as John had no idea what to with the information provided just yet.  
Sherlock gay, attracted to him, wanting John to dominate him, hurt him even. This would need some time to process. Especially since Sherlock seemed to be intending to have a go at it, at least in a non-sexual way. John wasn’t sure he was up for it.

For once Sherlock was playing some actual music, John realised with relieve. They weren’t just random notes or intervals. The piece was vaguely familiar and seemed rather complex, so John let Sherlock be while he grabbed his laptop to check out these new bookmarks.


	6. Cameron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John adapts quickly to the new information and heads to work for a rather interesting encounter.
> 
> _switching to John's POV for this chapter. It'll start bouncing from one to the other now. I'll do my best to make it obvious from the setting whose thoughts we are following_

The weirdness, as John thought of it, didn’t end after the talk. Instead it continued on to dinner -where it was Sherlock who went out for take-away- through the evening -spend with more pleasant music- and on to the next morning.

At first John had thought it all a bad dream, as Sherlock was tense and looked like he hadn’t slept at all, perched on a chair in the kitchen, eyes fixed on his microscope, the stench of spoilt milk heavy in the air. Not acknowledging John’s existence, even when he opened a window to get some oxygen into the room.

Then he turned to the coffee machine and found a freshly brewed pot ready, with his favourite cup next to it. Glancing over at Sherlock he frowned and then poured himself a cup. Smelled like normal coffee. Tasted like normal coffee. Which didn’t mean it had to be coffee, but at least made it probable. No reaction from Sherlock, who seemed completely engrossed in his work, as was the norm. But then work was work and play was play, wasn’t that what the websites had said? A clear distinction between someone’s sex-life and his work-life? Unless a contract was drawn up or a scene negotiated granting additional rights… Gods, he was accepting that whole mindset much too easy for his own comfort.

“Thanks for the coffee, Sherlock”, he said out of courtesy. The ‘hnn’ he got in response could mean anything from ‘you’re welcome’ to ‘sod off, I’m working’ or even ‘fetch me a towel’. With Sherlock ‘hnn’ was the universal answer and John was slowly able to differentiate between all the different intonation of those three letter. He was fairly sure this was a mix of ‘duh’, ‘you’re welcome’ and ‘can’t you see I’m working?’, so John decided to let Sherlock be and instead went to have breakfast in the living room.

Then it was off to work, where Ethan was waiting for him accompanied by a tall, dark-haired man in a business suit, who introduced himself as Cameron and insisted on coming into the examination room, no matter how much Sally tried to argue the point. John took pity on them and asked them both to please step inside.

“You weren’t due for another two days”, he told Ethan, ignoring the other man for the time being.

“Yeah well…The other wound is itching and master insisted we come see you immediately so he could meet you as well”

John gave the man a hard look before turning back to Ethan.

“Please take off your pants then, so I can get a look and see if you’ll need more creme. And if he wants to get to know me, he should drop by after hours. I’m working”, he added, which earned him a chuckle from Cameron.

“I’d have loved to do that, but Sherlock was very firm on the topic. He insisted that I should not approach you. I imagine talking to you or being in the same vicinity is already an offence as far as he’s concerned.”, he explained, watching closely as Ethan pulled down his pants to show John the line of red welts.

“What do you mean he forbade you to see me? We don’t even know each other”, John growled even as his hands carefully explored the welt. “Does this hurt?”

“Y-yes…A bit…”

“He emailed me yesterday and insisted that no matter what Ethan told me I was to not see you nor speak to you. Especially not about our history”, Cameron explained, humour in his voice at John’s apparent outrage. Sherlock was in way over his head it seemed.

“Well tell him he’s got no right to govern my interactions with anyone. And you should really take better care in where you hit. This one will need antibiotics as well because Ethan sits on it and aggravates it every day.”, he chastised, writing out another prescription.

“Apply that thrice a day and no sitting or laying on the welts for two days. Come back the day after so I can check this over”, he instructed, handing the paper to Ethan, who nodded and passed it on to Cameron.

“You are taking this awfully well for someone who wanted to call the abuse hotline just yesterday. Sherlock’s doing?”, Cameron asked.

“Yes. We had quite an informative discussion yesterday. And don’t think for a second that I won’t call the hotline if I think you’re mistreating him. No go. I got other patients to see”

Cameron nodded and guided Ethan out, leaving John alone with his thoughts for the five minutes of calm he granted himself before he called the next patient in.


	7. Spilt Milk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John comes home to confront Sherlock. Things go bad then well and then down the drain. But they got a date.

The distraction of further patients and their problems was just enough to keep from sending a load of outraged texts to Sherlock. Or better yet, a phone call. It always unsettled Sherlock not to be able to see his partner in conversation. But instead John behaved and focused on his work. 

Sherlock was being awfully quiet as well. Neither incessant texting, nor surprise calls or a visit were on the program, which was quite creepy all things considered. It was almost as if Sherlock had actually listened one of the hundred times he’d told him he didn’t want to be bothered while he worked. But instead of relaxing him it simply managed to underline the behaviour-shift Sherlock had undergone quite abruptly after their return from Baskerville.

Of course yesterdays confession put it all into a new light completely. Was Sherlock trying to prove he could behave? Was he trying to show John that an attempt at a relationship might actually be worth it? Was he trying to entice John with his obedience?

He wasn’t sure and he still wasn’t sure if he was even interested in a relationship with a man.   
After years in the military he knew that, at least aesthetically, he could appreciate the male physique. Looking at men was no hardship for him, though he firmly stuck to women for sexual encounters. First of all he had no idea what to do with a bloke in his bed, and he was content enough to share intimacy with women. No need to add men to the mix. Not even someone as good looking as Sherlock. Especially not someone with manners like Sherlock’s. The general disregard for social norm and sentiment were also strong reasons not to get more involved than he already was. He just wasn’t sure he was ready to top someone like Sherlock, or even fuck him. It could only end in disaster.

Then again his curiosity was piqued. Not about being with Sherlock, at least not exclusively. It was more a curiosity about what else was out there. His head was swimming with new vocabulary. Scenes and Safe words and Etiquette and Equipment. All of that was twisting and running through his head. He couldn’t deny that he now wanted to see this club Sherlock mentioned. Go there and see what was on display, to learn what could be done, see if he could really find more pleasure there. His mind was easily accepting the ideas Sherlock had planted, so he was fairly sure he would at least not be revolted by everything.

But first things first.  
Moving up the stairs to their flat he was not surprised to find Sherlock exactly where he’d left him, perched in front of his microscope. The only indicator that he’d moved was a pot of tea innocently waiting for him in the living room. He didn’t let it placate him however. Instead he moved to stand in the doorway to the kitchen, eyes fixed on Sherlock. He knew he couldn’t will the other to look up at him. He’d tried and failed more than once. But at least he would be able to see the younger’s reaction to his next words.

“You have no right to tell me who I can and can’t talk to”, he began without preamble. He could see Sherlock stop moving for a moment before he resumed his observations, shifting the slide minimally.

“I would never presume to tell you who you may interact with”, Sherlock replied stiffly, formally.

“Yes you would. In fact I know you already did it, as I had Cameron in my office today with Ethan. His welt did get infected.”, John said sternly. He could see Sherlock’s shoulders tense, his eyes studiously fixed on the lenses. He remained silent. Apparently there was no witty comeback or scathing remark in answer to his accusation. It was almost a shame.

“I don’t care what your past relationship is and I am really not that interested. It will not influence my decision about whether or not I want to try scening with you. It is creepy enough to have you make tea for me when you said you were not interested in doing housework.”

“Then I will refrain from doing it in the future”, Sherlock interjected coolly.

“That’s not the point. The point is you trying to act like someone else to project a picture of what you think I want, will not endear you to me. It is off-putting that you think I can’t recognise you for yourself and would find you more attractive than I already do, just because you played a role for me.”

“So you are attracted to me?”, Sherlock asked carefully, mind easily picking up and latching onto the obvious clues from John’s little monologue.

“You are aesthetically pleasing and have an interesting character. I am not yet sure if I am attracted to you on a more physical level.”

“But you are interested in trying”

“I’m interested in learning more. If it leads to shared intimacy I will not put off by you”, John said honestly, which finally got him Sherlock’s undivided attention, pale eyes rising from the machine to look straight at John. It was disconcerting that they were at eye level like this, but John wasn’t going to complain.

“Okay. What do you want to learn?”, Sherlock asked, mind already whirling through possible scenes and scenarios he might want to expose John to, things he wanted to let John try -preferably on him. But his thoughts came to an abrupt and rather painful standstill at the other’s answer.

“I’m not sure yet. I want to visit that club you mentioned. And do some more research. And then I’ll see about if I want to try anything. And if yes, what I want to try”

“When do you want to go? I am still a member so I can take you whenever you want to go”

“How does Friday sound? I’ll see Ethan that day, so we can meet him and Cameron later.”, John suggested, only to have Sherlock’s face turn sour at the mention of the two.

“I don’t want to see him”, he said, but his posture told a different story. John easily caught on to it. After the time they’d already spend together he was something of a professional when it came to Sherlockian body language.

“You don’t want to share me. Do you really think I would abandon you after just one evening spend with them? If you’d get rid of me that easily I’d have been gone weeks ago”, he chastised, walking up to the table.

“I am still not interested in meeting him”, Sherlock said stubbornly, which only made John laugh.

“Well then you can feel free to drop me off at the club and leave. I’m sure I can occupy myself without your guidance”, he said, which had Sherlock paling even more.

“You will not. We will go on Friday and I will not let go out of sight for a moment”, he decided, voice leaving no room for argument. And since it was pretty much what John had wanted he wasn’t going to offer one. Instead he nodded and walked to the fridge, only to gag when the stench of spoilt milk hit him as soon as he opened it.

“SHERLOCK! Didn’t you want to experiment on bacteria at sub zero temperatures? WHY is the milk in the fridge? This is disgusting”, he all but shouted, holding his nose close with one hand while he walked to the sink to pour the spoilt milk out with the other, completely ignoring the other’s protest.

So much for feeling content that he’d gotten Sherlock to go out with him on Friday. All the good emotions gone, eliminated by the sight of lumpy white clots disappearing down the drain.

“I cannot believe you some days”, he grumbled, letting the other’s attempts at an explanation breeze past him as he grabbed his laptop to move upstairs. He was staying there at least until the air was breathable again, if not longer.


	8. Enticing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock does his best to keep busy

As soon as John was out of the room Sherlock burst into activity. Not that he hadn’t been active before. But now that the milk was ruined there was no reason to continue his experiment. So instead of observing bacteria he went to his laptop, where he found, infuriating as it was, a reply from Cameron, telling him about the visit and that he was sure he could find a good sub for John in a few days.  
Half an hour later he send of a scathing reply, informing him that John already had the ideal sub, so Cameron could save himself the effort and instead go spank his college student. 

He also wanted to tell him to find something good to do Friday because he would take John to the club and didn’t want to be bothered. However, John had told him he couldn’t influence who he talked to. So he just hoped for the best and kept that part to himself. No need to taunt Cameron, only for him to make sure he showed up.

Then Sherlock checked the club’s page, reactivated his membership and made sure John was registered as guest of his. Once that was accomplished his send John the links to the club’s website as well as the rules of conduct.

After he had accomplished all things concerning John, he fetched the sugar and settled in to work. After all there was no need to let the tea go to waste and there had been three more or less promising requests on his website. Thus Sherlock spend the remainder of the day solving two of them. The third turned out boring after one inquiry, so he dropped it.

The cases were barely enough to keep him occupied, but at least they allowed him to get out of the house. Because if he had to stay close to John for the next two days without something to do the anticipation would kill him.   
It would already do horrible things to him on Friday. Sherlock knew himself well enough to know he’d spend it trying to figure out what to wear and how to impress John as well as the club-goers most. Especially Cameron. If they met him it wouldn’t do for him to look anything but his absolute best. He’d fret and worry and his mind would run in circles. But for now he had cases to occupy himself with, making sure his mind followed the linear enquiries.

When he returned late in the evening John had wandered downstairs again. He was sitting at the table, laptop open in front of him and a beer next to it. Carefully Sherlock snuck up to him and to his delight John was looking at pictures. He always figured the older was a visual type. Pictures communicated with him much easier than writing did. And from the look of it John had spend the time Sherlock was out to look through the bookmarks. He had made it to the bottom of the list and was looking at one of Sherlock’s favourite online stores for sex toys and the like. John had a multitude of tabs open waiting to be checked out. It was brilliant.

“Found something you like yet?”, Sherlock asked with a grin, walking round the table to flop down in his armchair. It was amusing to see John almost jump out of his chair and drop his laptop. Apparently he’d been quite engrossed in his research. He hadn’t heard the front door or the living room door opening. He was blushing faintly through his glare.

“Stop doing that, Sherlock. I almost hit you”, John said sternly, which only made Sherlock’s grin widen.

“I was well out of reach when you jumped up, John. Now did you find something interesting?”, he asked, relaxing further into his seat as he watched John get settled again.

“Yes. Quite a few things actually”, John said, though he didn’t elaborate. It was a pleasant change to, for once, be the one withholding information from Sherlock. After all the other could hardly read his preference in toys when John was merely looking at his laptop. After all that didn’t leave stains on your clothes.

Sherlock however didn’t rise to the bait immediately. Instead he just nodded. “That’s good.”, he said simply, eyes fixed on John, taking in every shift, every move of his eyes, thoughts whirling and deducing. It would be easier to just walk up to John and watch him browse, but where would be the fun in that? Plus now that John knew he was around he might stop browsing completely if he was being obvious. So he kept watching John sweat, shifting minimally in his seat as he finally returned his attention to browsing, moving through the tabs opened.

A favourite in tab five. Something interesting in the references of tab 7. Another one on the next page. Whatever the topic there, it was important. This was better than Christmas.

When John finally got up to go to the bathroom Sherlock was at the table in an instant, reopening all previous tabs to get a good look.

Number 5: A gag. A rubber ball gag to be exact. Normal size. Something deceptively simple, but if it stood representative for the whole category it opened the door for an immeasurable array of things. He just hoped John was not planning to gag him, because that would be horrid. Acceptable in the right circumstances, but being denied his most important way of expressing himself without any additional reason than to keep him quiet, was not his idea of a good time. He would have to think up a good distraction or retort should John think of bringing it up. But that could be done later.

Quickly he switched over to Number 7 and was actually amused to see a crop staring back at him. Leather, not quite like the one he used, but a crop nonetheless. In the bottom a link to one that looked a little more alike. Which was the content of Number 8. And Number 9 had something that was likely the perfect twin to his crop. Sherlock felt his lips turn up into a broad grin. Maybe he should leave it out in the living room tomorrow? Innocuously place it on a side table? Or John’s chair in the kitchen? Would that be too obvious? Or should he take John back to the morgue and find a corpse to hit? Let John do the deed because of his different strength?

Sherlock quickly closed the tabs when he heard the bathroom door open. Then he went up to one of the bookshelves, picking up one of the volumes to play busy. He could feel John’s eyes dig into his back, a gaze that clearly told him that John knew exactly what he’d been up to. But Sherlock wouldn’t admit to anything, so unless John was up for a round of verbal sparring he would simply continue to play coy.

Slowly Sherlock turned the page, eyes moving over the content slowly. He wasn’t really taking anything in, merely keeping up the busy facade. His mind was whirling around what the tabs said about John, what he might be interested in, how he featured in those fantasies. Or if he even did. Was John thinking of him when he looked at those implements. Was he at least thinking of a man? The store had enough male models to give John ideas, but there were just as many women on display.

He would have to wait till Friday to get more information, no matter how infuriating that was.


	9. The Clinic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not even noon and John already had to shout at someone.

Thursday passed most uneventful. John went to work as usual and got groceries on the way home before having a minor row with Sherlock concerning his lack of social skills as he’d reduced yet another unfortunate client to wailing tears right in their sitting room. It was driving John up the walls to have to listen to the girl bawl. Especially since he agreed with Sherlock and could follow his reasoning easy enough. Sherlock should just try and be a bit more…nice about it, so they wouldn’t have to stock-pile Kleenex any longer. Only therapists should always have a tissue ready. Not bloody flat mates of consulting detectives.

The rest of the evening was spend with him researching and blogging while Sherlock watched over him like a hawk. It was disconcerting how much of the younger’s attention was currently on him. It was even more than when he’d moved in and Sherlock had figured out all there was to know about him in 2 days. But now, with him learning new things about himself every minute he researched, Sherlock found him endlessly fascinating. John wondered when this fascination would end, or if there ever was an end of new possibilities when it came to kinky sex.

Then of course Friday came and Sherlock found some convenient but not exactly convincing reason to follow him to the surgery. Sally looked at him with pity when he put Sherlock in a chair right across his examination room with firm instructions not to move from the spot and not to talk to the patients.

A promise that lasted until John vanished into the examination room. At least the chair was solitary enough for Sherlock to only be able to annoy one patient at a time, so John did his best to work quick and efficient so no one had to put up with Sherlock more than necessary. It was kind of ridiculous how he managed Sherlock at times like this, but then again there was little else he could do to save his patients’ sanity - his own was after all long gone.

He’d just settled into the mind numbing rut of treating colds and bruises when he heard raised voices from outside. He tried to ignore it for a few minutes, but finally he nodded apologetically at the man whose breathing he was trying to listen to. Then he turned and walked to the door, coat hanging around his shoulders and stethoscope resting around his neck. Pulling it open he was not surprised to see Ethan, Cameron and Sherlock, arguing about something or another. They were standing nose to nose and Ethan was in the back-ground, sitting in the chair Sherlock had abandoned moments ago.

Sighing he shot a quick apologetic look to the receptionist before turning back to the bickering pair. Ethan had already seen him and was carefully tugging on Cameron’s pants to get his attention, but the older didn’t seem to notice. He did, however, notice when John took another step forward and pulled up his best commanding officer voice.

“If you two don’t shut it right now I will have you both kicked out of the clinic!”, he shouted, startling them, as well as the whole waiting room, into stunned silence.  
“I do not know what you are arguing about and I do not what to do! This is a clinic, so behave accordingly! Sherlock, don’t bait Cameron. Cameron, don’t argue with Sherlock. And Ethan I told you not to sit down! Now stay quiet for the time it takes me to treat my patient or you will all three face the consequences!”

Mission accomplished he turned and went back inside, slamming the door behind him. It was peacefully quiet for all of five seconds before whispered arguments could be heard again. Fortunately the sight of his door handle lowering again was enough to stop any further fighting.

“Sorry about that”, he told his patient before putting the stethoscope back into place. “Now take a deep breath”

Five minutes later he was guiding the man to the door, shaking hands before turning his attention to the party in front of him. Both Sherlock and Cameron were sitting and studiously ignoring each other while Ethan stood in front of them, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

“Ethan, please come in”, he said, voice calm and pleasant. He wasn’t surprised when all three started to move, but he pinned Sherlock with his eyes and shook his head.

“You are not allowed inside while I’m with a patient”, he told him, but Sherlock just stared down at him in return.

“Oh please, John. As if I couldn’t tell what you diagnosed as soon as he stepped outside”

“Well then you can just be content with that. Sit down again, Sherlock or I will kick you out”, he said, voice firm but showing a hint of exasperation. Luckily Ethan spoke up before he had to take measures. The boy seemed to be uneasy about interrupting him, but did it nonetheless.

“I-it’s okay. He can come in if he wants to”, he offered, shrinking back half a step when John looked at him.

“You don’t have to give in to him just to placate him”, John told the younger, not wanting him pressured into anything. But Ethan just shrugged.

“It’s really okay, Dr. Watson.”, he said. John looked at him for another few seconds before he nodded curtly and motioned for Sherlock to enter as well, who looked smugly at Cameron before taking a place near the door.

John didn’t comment on it and mostly ignored Sherlock and Cameron, instead focusing on Ethan, the only one who really needed to be here, who stood in front of the patient chair.

“How are you feeling today, Ethan?”, he asked, pulling up the other’s file.

“Better. The creme helped and there is no pain any more. The skin’s just a little red”

“Good. Let me take a look at them, please”, he requested, standing and moving around the table to inspect the wounds under the watchful eyes of their two onlookers. He didn’t let it rush him however. He’d worked under more pressure in Afghanistan. With more at stake than someone’s modesty or patience.

“Thank you. You can get dressed again. Everything is healing up nicely. Keep applying the salve once a day until you’ve used it all. Best time is before bed and you should try sleeping on your stomach for a few more days”, he explained and Ethan nodded in understanding.

“Will do, sir. Uhm… do you think I could play as well?”, he asked, glancing over at Cameron. John followed his gaze and regarded the older man closely for a few minutes before he shook his head.

“I would not advise playing. At least not if it involves pain. Sex should be okay, but nothing corporal.”, he said, directed mostly at Cameron, who nodded.

“I’ll make sure to be careful with him, Dr. Watson. I promise”, Cameron said pleasantly, but John didn’t care about pleasantries at the moment.

“You do that. I don’t want to see him again next week because you weren’t”, he said firmly.

Cameron just nodded, face drawn as he took Ethan’s hand.

“I will. Have a good day, Dr. Watson”, he said, carefully prodding Ethan to the door.

John nodded and watched them go, for once not guiding the patients to the door.

“Have a good day as well”, he added. He had actually intended to bring up the club visit later today, but with the mood as tense as it was he didn’t want to mention it. Especially since Sherlock was still standing next to the door and glaring daggers at Cameron for no apparent reason beside that he could do it.

Once the door had fallen shut behind the pair John dropped back into his seat with a sigh, eyes focused on Sherlock standing next to the door.

“See? Meeting him is not good for you, John. You should heed my advice and avoid him”, Sherlock told him, which only made John laugh weakly.

“No, Sherlock. You meeting him is not good for me. We should definitely avoid further incidents”, he agreed, picking up a pen to make a few notes on Ethan’s file before putting it in the ‘out’ pile on his desk.

“We are always together, John. It’s basically the same thing”, Sherlock reasoned, but John shook his head.

“Not quite. But I’m in no mood to argue with you right now. Please leave, Sherlock. You’ve ensured I didn’t invite him along and you have had me give quite the display to the waiting patients. So please go home and tell the receptionist that I’ll take a short break before seeing the next patient”

Sherlock looked pensively at John for a few more minutes before he nodded slowly.

“Okay. See you later, John. Don’t overwork yourself, we’re going out after all”, he told the older before he left.  
He even went and told the receptionist that John would go on break now so it’d be a while until he called in the next patient. Then left the clinic, but instead of heading home he headed to one of the large shopping areas as he’d decided to get John a bit of a consolidation present. He seemed to be seriously put off by their little row earlier, and it really had been small compared to some of the others he’d had with Cameron, and he didn’t want John to go to the club with any hard feelings. It would be counter productive.


	10. Clothes Emergency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's plan backfires spectacularly

When John arrived at Baker Street in the afternoon he was surprised to see that not only was Sherlock home, but there was a rather sizable pile of clothes in front of his bedroom door. Apparently the younger was checking out outfits.  
John wasn’t sure whether to be amused or horrified by the amount of leather, velvet and latex he found in that pile. He’d never seen this part of Sherlock’s wardrobe before, so he wondered where he’d hidden it since neither him and Mr. Hudson, nor the Yard had ever found them.

Then he went up to his own room and found, neatly laid out on his bed, an outfit that made his blood boil.

“Sherlock!”, he shouted down the stairs before he swept the pile up and turned to walk down with it. “What did you think you were doing in my room!”, he called as he bounded down the stairs. He was about to burst into Sherlock’s bedroom when the other stepped outside, shirtless and clad in a pair of skin tight leather pants. His anger immediately dissipated only to be replaced by amusement.

“What is it, John?”, Sherlock asked, carefully twisting to check himself out in the hallway mirror.

“The hell…”, John began, only to stop to chuckle for a few moments. “The hell are those?”

Sherlock looked from the mirror to John, to the clothes and raised an eyebrow that clearly said ‘are you really this stupid, John?’.

“It’s a set of clothes. I purchased them so you would have something fitting for tonight. The club has a strict dress-code and your usual outfits won’t comply”, Sherlock said matter-of-factly. He once again glanced at his ass in the mirror before he shook his head and vanished into his bedroom.

“I read the dress-code as well. What I wonder is, when you have been promoted to clothes adviser. ‘Cause last I checked I was perfectly able to dress myself”

“Last you checked we weren’t going to a sex club with a ‘elegant’ dress-code”, Sherlock snapped, reappearing in a knee length heavy wool skirt reaching his knees. Again no top to be seen.

“I was in the military Sherlock. I know how to do elegant dress. I own more than one suit as well as an uniform that would stand up to inspection any time”, John argued, which only stunned Sherlock for about half a second.

“You’d never wear your uniform to a sex club. And your suits are hardly up to par with what I have provided”, he reasoned, but apparently it was the wrong move, as John simply dropped the newly purchased suit onto the pile of discarded clothes.

“I don’t care, Sherlock. I will go out in my own clothes. Clothes that I am actually comfortable in and can wear for any length of time. And please god put on a shirt before we leave. People will be staring at you enough as it is”

“Maybe I want to be stared at?”, Sherlock snapped, carefully picking up the suit and putting it onto a clothes hanger. It was much too good to get wrinkled already.

“You want to be stared at for your brain, not for your shoulders”, John argued, but Sherlock was content to dismiss him.

“I’ll wear what I want, just like you will. And we’ll see who feels more out of place in the end”

With that the discussion seemed to be over, as Sherlock was once again rummaging through his wardrobe.

“Fine. I’ll take a shower. Don’t barge in on me again”, he called into the room before heading into the bathroom for a well deserved relaxing shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No updates Sunday and Monday as I'll not be at home


	11. Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They head out to Clandestine and of course they are already expected. Sherlock is not sure the evening can get worse.

John was being ridiculous. His suits were old and patchy at best, so why was he refusing Sherlock’s gift? He should simply wear it and look stunning when they visited the Club. There was no way he would make anyone want to be with him in his plain suits.

‘And that’s your problem, isn’t it’, the nagging voice from deep within the palace supplied. ‘You want him to look stunning so others will be envious of the attention he gives you. You don’t do it for him, you do it for yourself. To prove to them that you can catch and hold the attention of someone as stunning as John. This is not for him. You can’t do it like that. If you want to submit to him you don’t chose his clothes. You let him chose yours. You don’t change him to suit your needs.’

Sherlock send a mental glare to the voice of his submission, the whisper in the back of his head that had always been there, deep inside the palace, the strands and lines of thought that made him want to please, want to submit to some outward force, want to rebel only to feel a strong hand reign him back in.

It had been his reason to take up cocaine -to spite his brother-, the motivation not to exert any self-control -to attract his brother’s attention- and finally the incentive to give it up again -after his brother had firmly put him back on track, had given him lines and borders to play in. He knew it had been unfair to use Mycroft that way, but that was how they were and at that time it had been the only way he could get someone to play with him at all. Plus, driving the older up the walls was always a worthy goal to aim for.

In the end Sherlock settled for a pair of black slacks, a white shirt that was about a number smaller than his other shirts, and a black corset-vest to fit over it, accenting his lean built and slim waist. He left the top three buttons of his shirt undone and only combed his hair minimally, giving himself a more alluring and slightly dishevelled look. He then picked out a pair of flat, polished leather shoes since there was no reason to make himself look any taller. Not when he was travelling with John.

When he stepped out into the living room he was surprised to find John there, freshly showered and dressed to impress. His suit was indeed a bit patchy, but somehow it didn’t distract from his looks at all. It merely made him look more refined, as did the wooden cane, a beautiful piece with a carved head, that was leaning against his leg. They both knew John didn’t need a crutch or cane any longer. But this one was a work of art and went well with the whole outfit of slacks, burgundy dress shirt, and tailored jacket. Because no matter how patched up it was, that jacket had obviously been tailored to fit the strong shoulders, caress the slim waist and settle gently around his hips. Combined with the calm collected expression on John’s face, the straight back and sheer aura of control there was no way the bouncer wouldn’t let him pass.

There was also no way Sherlock would make it through the evening without getting on his knees for the older. It was perfect. But nonetheless Sherlock felt a flare of jealousy at the thought of taking John outside like that. Of anyone seeing John like this, approaching him when he looked like he did right now. Strong and confident and Sherlock’s. ‘Only that he isn’t yours’, the voice nagged, ‘you aren’t even his. You hope to draw his attention and get him to want you. But you haven’t. Your neck’s still bare. Nothing to prove his ownership of you.’

“Well”, John asked, rising to his feet, “do I pass inspection?”

Sherlock swallowed carefully and then nodded. “Yes. We should leave”

Because if we don’t I might feel compelled to stay in and make you want me. Keep everyone else away so you’ll only have eyes for me.

“What about dinner?”, John asked, but obediently followed Sherlock, who grabbed his coat at the door and then headed downstairs.

“We can have dinner at the club. They have a restaurant attached”

“I know that, Sherlock. I read that website over”, John said, a hint of exasperation in his voice. As usual Sherlock assumed the worst of people.

Sherlock only said ‘hnn’ in response and hailed the cab coming around the corner.

They drove to the train station and then took a train to a village just out of town. It was a nice, green country place that had likely looked just like this a hundred years ago. Small houses and cobblestone roads, an ancient train station and a manor house overlooking the clutter of houses and lush fields around. The manor was also their destination and John wasn’t surprised to see others heading up the same road. All were dressed to impress and headed up to The Old Manor, three star hotel with restaurant. The Manor also had a members only Club under the name of Clandestine, but that was not public knowledge.

Sherlock lead them up to the clerk on duty while taking in all the minuscule details that had changed since his last visit. A new paint job a year ago, refurnished lobby half a year ago, new staff hired regularly. The clerk however was still familiar and he seemed to recognise Sherlock instantly. The man gave him a quick once over, lingering on his bare throat. Then he transferred his attention to John and gave him a once over as well. Conclusion indecisive, but he smiled like it was his job as he checked their names of his guest list and informed them that the club would open in an hour and that the restaurant had an open table for them. They were also invited to join Master Cameron, who had arrived half an hour ago and was dining in as well.

Sherlock curled his nose at the mentioning of Cameron, but John had already agreed. So the clerk just gave Sherlock a smile that was a mixture of pity and amusement. Sherlock bristled in response but didn’t comment. Instead he followed the waiter who had appeared at their side into the room.  
He made it a point not to walk behind John, instead striding at his side as they were lead to a corner table where Cameron sat not with one, but two submissives. Ethan was sitting next to his Master and at his other side sat a woman of about 30, no, 34 but looking younger, short cropped hair, slim leather collar, fingers of a seamstress, clothes to prove the point. No obvious rope marks on her wrists, so either Cameron was more careful with her, or they hadn’t played recently. Light swell of her belly, carefully disguised by the dress, one hand resting on top. Pregnant then, and no hard play until the baby was there. Did she know who the father was? More important. Did she care?

Sherlock didn’t voice any of his thoughts as he hung his coat and then sat down next to John, which put him across from the female. The table was round, so it also meant he had to sit next to Cameron, but he was fairly sure he could ignore the man for tonight.  
John seemed happy enough to make conversation, and easily engaged both Cameron and Ethan in a discussion about soccer. This left Sherlock free to stare at the lady, already fascinated by the woman Cameron had collared. Women were always so expressive in their outfits. They wore accessories and make up and hair that told Sherlock so much he could easily retrace her life story from the age of 12, when she came to middle school, over her dropping out of school at 16, sewing in her free time, starting as an apprentice seamstress a year later, bad relationship, worse relationship, marginally better relationship ending in heartbreak when he left her for a younger woman, recently got involved in the scene. Hit it off with Cameron immediately. How sweet. Working as a costume manufacturer. Maybe at a theatre. No, opera.

She was watching him as well, likely trying to gauge his relationship with John while trying to figure out where he’d gotten his clothes. Professional interest on both sides of the table, mixed with unasked personal questions.

The dinner as a whole passed rather uneventful. After they’d ordered and the waiter had disappeared again the woman turned her attention to John, easily drawing him into a discussion about young Ethan, while said boy blushed and glared at her until Cameron gave him a smack to the back of the head, drawing his attention and reminding him of the rules.  
Sherlock was just happy that Cameron had decided to not give him as much attention, so he was left to his favourite past time when not on a case, which was people watching, checking out everyone around and deducing to his heart’s content while John kept everyone talking. No one seemed to be offended that he wasn’t talkative, which was pleasant enough until he caught Ethan look at John with a bit of worship in his eyes. His eyes narrowed as he realised just what everyone was thinking.

He wasn’t allowed to speak. Their impression was, that even without a collar, in a public setting like this, John, who he wasn’t even involved with, had forbidden him to speak. The anger that suddenly surrounded Sherlock was palpable, but John didn’t let it concern him and took it in stride when he joined the conversation.  
Unfortunately the move didn’t have the desired effect. Even Julie, the woman, looked like she was humouring him, like John was humouring him, like he was digging his own grave. They still thought John didn’t care if he broke the rules as long as he was ready to face the consequences. But short of shouting ‘he’s not topping me’, he likely couldn’t disabuse them. And he wouldn’t do that here. Or anywhere else for that matter.  
With a glare Sherlock fell silent again. In return John send him one of those looks that told him he was being ridiculous and his social skills were not up to par, but Sherlock ignored it. It wasn’t helping matters so he didn’t grace it with a response.

He wanted to kick Cameron in the shin for the looks he was sending him, or better yet hit his balls. But John wouldn’t appreciate this. And since Sherlock had promised the older that he’d take him to the club he wouldn’t let a git like Cameron stop him.

Thankfully no one but Julie wanted dessert, so Cameron got her a piece of cake she could take over into the club with her. Sherlock paid for John’s and his dinner, surreptitiously daring anyone to interfere or comment. He had the distinct feeling he was being humoured again, but he ignored it. They were idiots who couldn’t see the obvious and follow most basic of clues and it was not Sherlock’s job to educate them. Instead he stalked ahead, John trailing behind him with a smile on his lips while Sherlock snapped at the bouncer. He almost insulted the man enough that he would turn them away on general principle, but John managed to keep things calm and the bouncer from hitting Sherlock in the face so they made it into the Club unscratched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The new semester started today, so I will no longer manage daily updates. I will do my best to update the story at a fast pace nonetheless.


	12. Punch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They switch locations, but it doesn't really help.

It was almost funny to watch Sherlock get more and more riled up as dinner progressed. John didn’t really know what was setting Sherlock off, as he’d been his normal, prickly, deducing self just a few minutes ago, but it was all going downhill now, and fast. He almost had to bribe the bouncer to let them inside and he was grateful when they finally made it into the club. Which didn’t look much different from any of the clubs he’d visited before.  
The room they entered was illuminated by lamps sitting in the corners, leaving enough darkened areas and booths for people to withdraw into. One side of the room had a bar and sitting area while the other was taken up by a dance floor as well as a nook for more public displays of affection. Everywhere around he could see people standing and kneeling and sitting, talking and relaxing and dancing, dressed in fancy and fantastic outfits. The only ones that really stood out amongst the crowd where those in opulent costumes. Even the collars a rough 30% of the attendees wore simply looked like a piece of jewelry, and even the leashes on some didn’t make them look much different from some of the kids he’d see in the city. It was fashionable enough in public, so he felt kind of desensitised to the whole thing. There was no one completely naked. At least outside the play area, which John didn’t feel ready to check out just yet.

Instead John was happy he’d listened to his guts and took the ornate wooden cane he’d been gifted with before he’d met Sherlock. Silently he followed the other over to the bar. He wanted to sit and watch for now, so he didn’t object to the direction and gratefully dropped into a cushioned seat once they’d gotten their drinks. Beer for him, water for Sherlock. He had gotten a look just for ordering alcohol, but he wasn’t here to scene with anyone and he definitely wouldn’t pick anyone up, so he was allowed to have a beer. John knew little enough about stuff to know that it wouldn’t be a good idea to approach anyone. He needed more information before he tried to involve someone else in his sex-life. Especially since he would be the responsible one, the active one.

John hadn’t been surprised to see that Sherlock picked a table with just two seats, giving one to John while taking the other himself. The intention was clear enough, so John simply grinned at Sherlock’s sour face when Cameron took the table next to theirs. Ethan moved the table closer and Cameron sat in one chair while Julie took the other, Ethan settled between them on his knees. He’d produced a kneeling pillow from one of the small piles discreetly stacked all over the room. Briefly John wondered what Sherlock would look like on one of them.  
He pushed the mental image away swiftly and instead wondered what his last girlfriend would have looked like kneeling. It was so wrong he quickly banned her from kneeling. And as he went through his past girlfriends and put them on their knees he had to agree with Sherlock. They either seemed out of place or unsure of what to do. The only woman he knew who might seem right on her knees was Molly, and he banned that image just as quick as it arose.

For a while he simply watched Ethan, who seemed so at ease kneeling there, knowing that Cameron would watch over him. He wondered if, under normal circumstance, Julie would be on her knees as well. She looked uncomfortable in her chair, shifting and fidgeting like she was doing something forbidden. Completely unlike Sherlock, who was all but sprawling in his seat, daring Cameron to comment on it. John was sure that a big part of motivation was spite tonight. Sherlock wanted to prove a point to himself and to everyone around. John wasn’t going to interfere. His flatmate was old enough to take care of himself, even if in this surrounding he should pretend otherwise. And John had no reason to interfere in this personal feud of Sherlock’s.

John was acutely aware that Cameron was watching him, assessing him. Just like a lot of other people around, likely the regulars, who were watching them all rather more closely than needed. They were likely trying to figure out Sherlock and him, which was ridiculous because not even John knew what their relationship was exactly. It was a mix of friendship, one-sided attraction and a bit of hero worship. Because no one could watch Sherlock work and not get a bit starry eyed at how brilliant he could be.

“It’s your first time at a club like this”, Cameron stated after a while and John waited for the ‘of course it is’ to come from Sherlock, best served with a sneer and a raised eyebrow. But there came nothing, so John nodded.

“Yes. How did you deduce it?”, he asked, the customary question he’d adopted to answer any of Sherlock’s brilliant and often unrelated bouts of explanation. Everyone at the Yard had picked it up as well. Obviously Cameron had never heard of it, because he just looked at him confused for a few moments before answering.

“Well, you just learnt about the lifestyle on Tuesday, so you can hardly have visited a club before that. Plus, you don’t know the basic rules of engagement here”

John caught the other Dominant’s gaze and wondered just what Cameron was referring to. He had read and was adhering to the club’s policies, he had submitted to the dress code and he’d done enough research to know he hadn’t offended anyone. And he wasn’t responsible for Sherlock, who seemed to be unable to go five minutes without stepping on someone’s toes at any given time.

“Oh? Please enlighten me”, he answered, voice calm and only a tad deferential. Honed on a long row of commanding officers who thought they knew everything but really knew shit.

“You have to act your part. You are, or at least assume, you’re a Dominant. Yet you let Sherlock, who is a submissive, run roughshod over you. It almost looks like you submit to him, which is rather ridiculous since he should be the one submitting to you. You don’t give him rules and you go fetch your own drinks when you should send him to get them. Furthermore”

John wasn’t surprised when Sherlock interrupted with a simple statement of ‘Wrong’, which immediately redirected Cameron’s attention.

“Who was talking to you, boy? Don’t you know the basic rules any more? You don’t interrupt a Dominant when he speaks. You don’t slouch and you behave. You are a disgrace and I wonder why Ella even let you back here.”

“Stop it”, John interrupted, voice hard. He didn’t care what Cameron had to say about his own behaviour, but he would not stand by to listen to him insulting Sherlock.

“You are overstepping yourself. You got two submissives of your own, so take your time bossing them around. You are not Sherlock’s Dominant, so you shouldn’t presume to tell him what to do”

“It seems I have to, since you are unable to hold him in check”

John actually had to laugh at that, a motion which was mimicked by Sherlock. John was still grinning when he caught himself and made a hand-motion in Sherlock’s direction which clearly conveyed ‘go on, I know you want to’.

“You’re wrong. You assume John and I are involved in a dynamic relationship. We are not. You assume I am selfish and ignorant though I simply know John’s preferences. He got his own drink because he’s picky. I lead the way because I know the layout. I chose the seats for the same reason, as I know John wants to watch tonight. If he’d object we would sit somewhere else. You also, wrongly, assumed that I was not to speak because I spend most of the time watching your submissive and wondering if you collared her because you want her, or just the child she will birth. You assume I am digging my own grave here, which I’ll have to lie in later, because you think John will discipline me in private. Again we are not involved. And if we were I’d still say the same thing as this is as much for his amusement as for your education.”

And I so didn’t intend to say that last part, Sherlock mentally chided himself. He looked over to John and found him with his features drawn. But the tightness wasn’t because of him. No, the source of John’s unease sat in a chair across from them. Julie’s hands were tense, lower lip quivering as she stared at Sherlock. Apparently he had hit rather close to home with that deduction, though he’d mostly said it to aggravate Cameron, who was white as a sheet and glaring furiously.

“Sherlock. That was cruel”, John said before turning to Julie. “I’m sorry for what he said”

“That’s not how it works, John”, Cameron said coldly, now clearly seething with rage. “He was insulted her and insulted me and insulted our relationship. I will not stand it”

He rose to his feet but so did John, not letting the other man’s height intimidate him.

“I have already apologised for his words. I will not permit you to go further with this”, he added, stepping in front of Sherlock to block the way.

“As he just so nicely informed us, you are not his Dominant. You can’t stop me from doing anything”, Cameron seethed, but John didn’t back down.

“Neither are you. So if I can’t defend him you can’t attack him”, John shot back, hand gripping his cane tightly.

Before a veritable fight broke out however, a group of three appeared by their table. It consisted of a woman of moderate height, who was flanked by to men, obviously security and both a good head taller that even Sherlock.

“Now gentlemen, calm yourself”, the woman said, easily catching all of their attention. But Cameron didn’t seem inclined to give in. He merely transfered his attention to the woman.

“I’ll not calm down, Ella. Sherlock has insulted me and mine and I will not stand for it”, he said angrily. He was out for blood, John could see it clearly, and he sincerely hoped he wouldn’t have to do something that would get him banned permanently.

“What exactly did he do?”, she asked, still exuding calmness. She seemed completely at ease and ignorant of the tension. And the two blokes made sure no one tried to throw any punches just yet. John quickly spoke up before Cameron could start to rant again.

“He told Cameron that he had wondered if his interest was in Julie as opposed to her ability to produce children”, he said calmly. He wasn’t afraid of Ella. Yes, she was the owner, a Dominant and as such top dog in the room. But she didn’t seem the kind to tolerate bullshit, and this was getting rather ridiculous. Julie was still trembling and Ethan had moved to hug her leg, giving her what comfort he could without leaving his position.

“It’s completely out of line! I won’t let him get away with it”, Cameron insisted, but Ella shook her head sternly.

“You will calm yourself, Cameron. Sherlock is not the only one wondering just where your interests really lie. And even if we weren’t, you are in neither in the position, nor in the right mindset to discipline anyone. You should be more concerned with your submissives. They are distressed.”

“They can take care of themselves”, Cameron said, which to everyone’s surprise caught him a slap across the face from Sherlock, who had come out of his seat in an instance.

“They can’t. It’s your job to take care of them and you’re, as usual, sub par at it. Julie is in tears, Ethan is frightened, and you stand here accusing me just so you can one up me. I will not stand for this.”, he said, pale eyes staring hard at Cameron before he transferred his attention to Ella, a faint smile on his lips.  
“I’m sorry to cause you such inconvenience, Madam”

“He hit me! That little shit just smacked me”, Cameron shouted, taking a step towards Sherlock. John however would have none of that and easily grabbed the hands reaching for Sherlock, getting the other into a firm hold, arms twisted up behind his back.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you”, he said calmly.

Unfortunately it wasn’t the right move, because Ella seemed to suddenly double in size as she glared them all down.

“Into my office. NOW!”, she ordered, turning on her heels and striding to the back of the club. Security gave them one hard look and made sure to stand firmly between Cameron and Sherlock in case any more punches would be thrown. John was really more concerned about Julie and Ethan, who were following close behind Cameron and obviously distraught. But nonetheless he let go of Cameron, who shot him an icy glare, and they all followed Ella to the door marked ‘office’.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The club is modeled after one that is located close to my home town. It's located in a medival castle now hotel :)


	13. Third Grade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ella takes over and John feels more like a parent than he's comfortable with

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay an update.  
> But I don't know when you'll get the next, because university is a time consuming bitch and the story is a diva
> 
> If you are not willing to bear a cliff-hanger for much longer, wait until the next chapter is online before reading this one ;)

Ella’s office was a nice open space on the floor above the club, with a sitting area large enough to hold them all.  
Ella settled at the head of the table while the rest of the group split, each party claiming one side of it. Security stood at the bottom and watched everyone closely, ready to step in before more punches could be thrown.

John felt like a parent called to school to pick up his child for gross misbehaviour. Sherlock was sitting next to him, gaze lowered and thrumming with anticipation while across from him Cameron glared and Julie cried silently. Her hand was gripping Ethan’s shoulder, while the boy knelt at her feet.  
It might as well have been a third grader making a classmate cry, only to be called into the principal office while the parents were called. It was kind of ridiculous, but John wisely kept his observation to himself. Instead he watched Ella look at each of them in turn before zeroing in on Sherlock. Oh yes, third grade.

“So Sherlock, why did you say what you said?”, she asked calmly, seemingly unphazed by Julie’s near silent sobs. John wondered if they’d have to go through the whole thing down to apologies and promises to behave next time, but this was Ella’s club and she made the rules. So if that was, what was needed for them to be allowed back he’d make sure they both got out of this well.

“I was explaining that they were wrong to assume I was subbing for John tonight. I chose the first thing that came to mind to illustrate what I was thinking about over dinner”, Sherlock said, clearly defensive. John knew he didn’t like to explain the reasoning of his mind to anyone. Especially when he had to explain his train of thoughts.

“And you had no idea what effect your words might have?”

“I didn’t consider the statement to be very volatile. It is a veritable question for a pregnancy not even three months into a relationship. Especially considering the fact that Cameron collared Ethan quite recently, presumably to make up for the lack of play he can engage in with Julie”, he explained, which only made Julie sob louder, Ethan’s hands going almost white where they gripped her skirt. John knew Sherlock had already tamed down his statement considerably, but it still had Cameron foaming at the mouth.

“You will stop talking like that about me!”, Cameron growled. John was saved from interfering by Ella, who looked at him coolly.

“You, Cameron, will stop interrupting. Sherlock, please continue”

Sherlock looked blithely at Cameron, clearly holding back a long line of abuse, before returning his attention to Ella.

“As I said, I couldn’t figure it out and I assumed they had talked about it and come to an arrangement for everyone’s satisfaction. Apparently I was wrong and I’m sorry for how uncomfortable I’ve made Julie”

John was surprised to actually hear Sherlock apologise for anything. Then again this was the club and Sherlock seemed to be uniquely attuned to everything going on. He seemed very invested in this location, if his deferential behaviour was any indication. It shouldn’t be too surprising to see him show compassion to a fellow submission, especially someone as distraught as Julie, but it was still so unlike Sherlock it made John uneasy.

Ella nodded and turned to Cameron.

“Why are you this angry, Cameron? Sherlock has, if you ignore that last backhand, done nothing to attack you.”

Cameron’s gaze narrowed and he shot Sherlock a glare before he turned his attention back to Ella.

“He has no respect for me and my relationships. He seeks to undermine my relationship with Julie. I have suffered his disrespect once and I will not stand for it again. He was a horrible submissive 10 years ago and he hasn’t gotten any better at it. It’s disgraceful to even let him into the club”, he said icily, voice clearly showing his contempt.

Ella looked at him for a few moment and then turned to John with a calm and almost sweet expression on her face. John hadn’t been this frightened when he’d looked across a battlefield.

“John, would you agree with Cameron’s reasoning?”, she asked, voice still calm, and John exhaled slowly before he answered.

“No, Madam. If Sherlock wanted to undermine their relationship he could likely touch onto more delicate subjects. He really just picked the first of twenty details that came to mind. He likely has observed more embarrassing details and just chose one to do least damage. I can’t say if Sherlock is a horrible sub, since I have no frame of reference. He is, however, very attentive and observes a lot. He also quickly forms an opinion of people he meets and he won’t show respect to persons who don’t deserve it. And from the way Cameron has been behaving today I am coming to share his opinion.”, John said curtly and with his best military voice. His eyes stayed firmly fixed on Ella, but he could feel Cameron’s eyes dig into him, willing him to drop dead.

At his side Sherlock was vibrating with anger and unspent energy, so he placed a hand on the other’s knee to stop any sudden outburst that might tip the favours in Cameron’s direction. Right now it seemed like Ella was agreeing with their reasoning and John didn’t want to risk it by letting Sherlock have one of his less than favourable outbursts.

The whole tableau was held in suspense while Ella looked them over, not having any more questions. She could feel the tension rising, but she didn’t let it hurry her in making her conclusion. Finally she locked eyes with each of them before speaking her verdict, voice leaving no room for argument.

“All of you will return home now and will not return before next Friday. Cameron, you need to spend time with your submissives and sort this issue out. If Julie is this easily to bring to tears you will have to think more about her emotional well being and if she’s stable enough to visit the club. Sherlock, you will have to calm down as well. I will not tolerate you hitting someone in my club, no matter how justified it feels. Consensual violence is the only violence allowed. John, I’m sorry to cut your first visit short. Please keep taking care of Sherlock”

So they’d get off with a one week playground ban. John was relived to hear it. But he was also startled by Ella’s request. Next to him Sherlock was still brimming with energy, but the hand to the knee had had the desired effect and Sherlock was still seemingly calm. Apparently he was already taking care of his friend in the way Ella cared for.

“I will. Thank you, Madam. Come on Sherlock, let’s go home”, he said softly, one hand holding the cane while the other held Sherlock. He was in no mood to wait for Cameron and his subs to leave first, or to run into them outside. Thus he hurried them through the coat check and then out of the hotel.

They caught the last train to London without any more trouble, John’s fingers still firmly tangled with Sherlock’s. Since it was late the train was mostly empty, so they easily found an empty compartment in the back of the train.  
But where John had thought Sherlock would drop into one of his customary sulking poses to start a rant of his usual epic proportions, the detective waited for the door to close and the train to move before going to his knees.

John looked at him blankly, sitting up straight as he looked down at the other. Whatever this was about and whatever he did next would redefine their entire relationship. He just hoped he was doing the right thing.


	14. The train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the train John has to figure out how to ground Sherlock without ruining what they have in the process.

John looked down at Sherlock silently, still holding the detective’s hand in his. It was obvious that it had been a calculated move. Sherlock hadn’t stumbled or fallen, he hadn’t gone weak in the knees or dizzy in the head. No, he’d gone to his knees here, in front of John, for John. And the doctor had no idea what he should do or say now.

“What’s this mean, Sherlock?”, he asked instead, voice clearly showing his nervousness and insecurity as he looked down at his friend. He didn’t like this, being uncertain of something. He was always in control, even when following in the whirlwind that was Sherlock Holmes on a case, he knew what to expect and how to react. But right now he just felt out of his depth.

“I need to calm, John. And right now I find myself unable to do it while sitting”, Sherlock replied in his ‘what else would I by doing’-voice. John positively hated it, but an answer meant that Sherlock was still here and not off to his mind palace to deal with the events.

“So you just decided to do it kneeling”, he stated, which got him a ‘duh’ look in return.

“Yes. It allows me to stop worrying about parts of my body.”

“Because you can’t fall over and if you slump you won’t hit the ground hard”, John questioned.

“Exactly. It would be better if I could completely relinquish control right now, but I am not sure you’d be willing”, Sherlock said, shifting on his knees restlessly, not looking up to meet the doctor’s eyes.

“Take control? How?”, John asked. If Sherlock needed his help he’d do his best, but he needed to know a bit more about the prereqisites before he started.

“However you want. I can’t think with all the input and I have so much information that still needs processing that it would be ideal for you to give me some point of sensation that pushes back everything else. Something that I can focus on that will permit me to push away all the unnecessary input and focus on the important bits”

John considered the other’s words, but there wasn’t really much to think about. He could feel Sherlock growing more restless by the second, shifting on the ground, fingers twitching in his hold, the body trying to process all the information the mind couldn’t.

“Will any sensation do?”, he asked, fingers tightening around Sherlock’s to keep him grounded.

“Pain usually works best. But it really can be anything. It just has to be strong enough to push away other sensations so I am made incapable of thinking of something else”, Sherlock explained, licking his lips in a nervous fashion John had never seen before.

“Okay. Is there anything you would object to me doing here? Anything I should avoid?”, he asked. John knew that they shouldn’t do it like that. There should be proper negotiations, better guidelines for him to follow, more knowledge about just where he could or couldn’t push. Plus, John had no idea if he was even okay with topping Sherlock. They had a completely comfortable platonic relationship and John wasn’t even sure he was attracted to men on a more than aethetic level. But there was no way he’d let Sherlock vibrate out of his skin as he was currently doing. It would only end up with ruined clothes and more holes in the wall and violins at ungodly hours of the night.

“Not really. I would expect you to stay in the vague margins of social norm you are so fond of, so nothing explicit or sexual. But I know that would cross with your sense of proprietarity , so I’m not concerned.”, Sherlock said impatiently.

John nodded and took a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly as he gathered his thoughts. He didn’t let Sherlock rush him as he calmly assessed their situation and came to a conclusion. Carefully he let go of Sherlock’s hand and instead took hold of his hair, fingers gently tangling in dark curls.

“Put your hands behind your back, Sherlock. And then lean against my legs. You’ll stay like that until we have to get out, so get comfortable”, he instructed and then watched in amazement how the tension seemed to drain as Sherlock slumped forward, hands holding onto each other behind his back, resting against his ass, features completely relaxed.  
From his seated position John was treated to a generous view of Sherlock’s back. Since the younger was leaning forward John could look down all the way from his dark curls over the nape of his neck and down the white shirt, the tight black corset vest and then those long fingered hands, wrapped loosely around each other where they rested on a perfectly shaped ass clad in tight black slacks.

John had to admit the picture was quite lovely and had a strong effect. He was just happy that Sherlock had his face burried in John’s pants, just above the knee, and thus didn’t see the bulge slowly forming at the front of his pants. He didn’t feel ready to share that particular bit of information with the detective just yet. Especially since he didn’t know what to make of it himself.


	15. Back Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After arriving home John rocks Sherlock's world...or rather he blows it apart.

The next half an hour was spend in complete silence. John simply carded his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, gently massaging his scalp while his eyes kept moving up and down the younger’s back. Beneath his touch the detective seemed unmoving, only the gentle raising and lowering of his shoulders proving he was still alive. John was sure that Sherlock had retreated deep into his mind palace, so he let him be and instead tried to figure out what to do once they got home. Because even though Sherlock seemed calm enough, John wasn’t sure it would keep. After all Sherlock had seemed calm enough when they left the Club, but had been unsettled again on the train.

When they reached London John carefully guided Sherlock from the train and into a cab. The younger was still lost in thoughts, hands still tangled behind his back as he followed John’s lead. Inside the cab he leaned against John’s side and only relaxed once the older returned his hands to Sherlock’s hair.

But John could already feel the unease starting again. Next to him Sherlock was tensing and shifting much like someone caught in a bad dream. So there would be no quiet evening, no, John would have to become more creative than that. And he’d have to do it in a way that wouldn’t incriminate himself. After all he still hadn’t figured out his own role in all this. He definitely wasn’t ready for a sexual relationship with Sherlock. And he couldn’t even be sure if Sherlock was interested in an nonsexual relationship.  
Still he found himself tasked with calming down the younger’s mind, giving him something to focus on. And from what he’d gathered so far some painful implement seemed to be the the way to do it. It would allow him to keep his distance while providing Sherlock with what he needed. He’d just take Sherlock’s crop and use it to keep the younger’s body focused. He wasn’t sure how much pain he could bring himself to inflict, but it would be a good point to start.

Once the cab reached Baker Street John prodded Sherlock out of the cab and then paid the driver. When he turned back he could see Sherlock shifting on his feet, rocking back and forth with his hands still behind his back, restless energy converted into motion.

“Are you quite done now, John? I want inside”, Sherlock said, still shifting in front of the door.

“Then unlock it”, John said, voice lightly exasperate. If Sherlock had surfaced enough to talk he could bloody well open the door for himself.

“I can’t”, Sherlock replied and after a disbelieving look from John added “I left my keys at home. I know you took yours. So please let me inside before I do something you’ll regret”

“Such as?”, John asked as he stepped up to the door to unlock it.

“As go to my knees, or try to molest you. Now please open the door so we can do it inside”, Sherlock said, but John shook his head. He had the door unlocked, but he was looking firmly at Sherlock.

“There will be nothing sexual between us tonight”, he said firmly and before Sherlock could argue he pushed open the door, holding it for Sherlock. “Now get upstairs and fetch the riding crop”, he instructed.

It was as if Sherlock flew up the stairs, John thought in amusement as he followed Sherlock. He wasn’t surprised to see the other already back in the living room, on his knees again and with the crop in his hands, held out like a silent offering. It was scary how eager Sherlock seemed to be for this, to feel this, to have John hurt him for no reason than that he could.  
He closed and locked the door behind him so Mrs. Hudson would know not to come in tomorrow. Then he walked up to Sherlock and took the crop from him, swallowing hard at the feeling of the leather beneath his hand. John couldn’t remember exactly how often he’d thought about this, how many fits of temper he’d had where he’d wanted nothing more than to take this very crop and use it teach Sherlock some manners. But he wasn’t here to teach Sherlock anything…

No, he was here to help his flatmate, who had apparently taken it upon himself to plan this out. Sherlock was calmly undressing right there, on the carpet, but John shook his head sharply, immediately stopping all motion.

“Stop that. We’ll not do this here”, he instructed, voice thick. He wasn’t sure if it was anticipation or arousal, but he could feel the light tightening in the stomach that came with both. The crop felt wonderful in his hand, as if it should have always been there, and the sight of Sherlock eager in front of him, had his body completely on board. His mind was still hesitant, unsure of his qualification. But apparently it was enough to have Sherlock obedient, which was a surreal sight in and on itself. Watching his flat mate pick up his discarded vest before getting to his feet.

“Where will we do it, then?”, Sherlock asked, voice restless. It seemed he wanted to get this going now.

“In your bedroom.”, John said calmly, not allowing Sherlock to rush him. He needed to stay in control of the situation if he wanted to stay in control of Sherlock. It had been the first rule on most sites. Stay in control. You make the rules. You set the stage. And if you let your submissive take that from you, you are doing both of you a disfavour. His words however, didn’t have the desired effect as Sherlock simply frowned.

“You said there would be nothing sexual”, he said sulkily. John simply nodded and once again reminded himself to stay calm.

“I did and there won’t. We will do it in your bedroom so you won’t have to change location afterwards. Now move”, he said, voice more firm on the last part. He knew most websites advised that you shouldn’t explain too much, leave the submissive guessing, keep surprising them. But if he did that with Sherlock it would only be counter productive. He would try figure out everything before John did it, keeping himself busy where he should be relaxing. Especially since this was something he didn’t want Sherlock guessing on. There was no need to create false expectations between them.

The firm voice was finally enough to get Sherlock focused again as he walked into his bedroom. It held all the order the living room and kitchen never maintained. Sherlock used it rarely enough, so there was no way anything could accumulate there, beside loads of books lining the walls that weren’t taken up by dresser and wardrobe. The floor however was free and so was the bed.

Sherlock only hesitated briefly inside his room, apparently unsure of what to do, before he advanced to the foot of the bed, turning to look expectantly at John.

He shouldn’t have let Sherlock advance on his own, John chided himself. The faintly blissed out look was gone, replaced with calculation as the younger tried to figure out what to do next. For a moment John was almost happy that he had no idea what he wanted to do now. It meant Sherlock couldn’t read him for it, couldn’t deduce it from the way he held himself or the crop. But at least the next two steps were clear enough.

“Take off your clothes and put them away”, John ordered, keeping to the firm voice, as it seemed to have the best effect. He kept his eyes fixed on Sherlock while he closed the door. Then he leaned back against it and watched Sherlock strip unselfconciously. Boots and socks, shirt and pants were stored in their respective places before Sherlock leaned against the foot-board again. His pale eyes were digging into John’s, but the older didn’t let it phase him.

Instead John did his best to ignore the expanse of naked flesh on display, especially the crotch area. He knew Sherlock was aroused by this. He could see it in his eyes and his breathing, but John wasn’t sure he could brave the visual proof of it and not run screaming. Okay, there was nothing Sherlock could do that would make him run screaming. There were plenty things that could make him run -volatile experiments- or scream -complete disregard of social norm- but not both at the same time. Nonetheless he kept his gaze firmly fixed on Sherlock’s face as he ordered him to turn around and bend over the foot of the bed.

Not his most brilliant move, John had to admit moments later when he came face to face with Sherlock’s ass. Seeing the taller man almost bend himself in half to bend over the bed, spreading his legs invitingly to at least rest his shoulders semi-comfortable on the sheets. The sight would have been mostly the same if Sherlock had been a woman and it was doing strange things to John’s pulse. Still he kept his calm, fingers flexing on the crop as he looked the other over.

“Will you be able to maintain this position for a long time, or should I get a pillow for your stomach?”, he asked. He was actually surprised that the implication of spending some time in this position had Sherlock groan. It didn’t look comfortable in the least.

“A pillow would be nice”, Sherlock said, voice again laden with something John couldn’t identify. It might have been eagerness, might have been arousal, or some other tone he’d never hear Sherlock use. John didn’t let it concern himself though. He just walked up the bed and picked up one of the fluffy pillows. He handed it to Sherlock and just waited for the younger to arrange himself comfortable. Once he was done John walked back to stand behind him, looking over the expanse of naked flesh displayed for him.  
Mentally he recited what he’d read about crops and their use. He was just grateful for his medical knowledge, so he knew enough about major muscle groups that he was confident he’d do not harm. And though he’d never practised it he was convinced he could hit the target at close range.

John waited until Sherlock had calmed down again, hands resting next to his head, holding onto the sheet as he waited. Carefully he stretched his arm and let the leather flap stroke over Sherlock’s back, from waist to ass and down to his knees, cataloguing distance and size of the area. He also used it to exert gentle pressure on some of the areas, listening closely as Sherlock’s breath hitched. John needed to get Sherlock to the blissed out state again, and he had no idea what to say. So instead he kept stroking, listening to Sherlock’s breathing pattern and letting it guide him. The single point of contact began doing its job, just like Sherlock had promised. His breathing sped up and he began shifting minimally, hips pushing into the pillow provided.

He didn’t know if Sherlock’s mind had pushed out anything else yet, so John didn’t give him time to get used to it. Instead he pulled back the crop, which prompted another indrawn breath, and then brought it down lightly on Sherlock’s ass. It made almost no sound at all, but Sherlock’s breath hitched on his exhale and his fingers tightened in the sheets. Carefully John brought the crop down in another place, a little more strength, but the response remained much the same.

John picked up more confidence from this, adding more force to his blows until Sherlock began making real sounds. Low groans and occasional moans when the crop made contact with a sensitive spot, a twitch of his hips when it landed on a previous welt. It was a beautiful sight, watching Sherlock dissolve in front of him, underneath him, all just because John brought the synthetic stick with its leather flap down on smooth skin.   
After a while he grew more daring, straying from just Sherlock’s ass to his thighs and lower back, staying well within his self-assigned borders. He even managed to land some especially effective blows to the inside of Sherlock’s thighs, making the detective shout in surprise before he relaxed again.

John could feel his arm tiring now, but he didn’t dare switch arms in case it screwed with his aim. Sherlock was rocking back and forth now, pushing into the hits before rubbing himself against the pillow, completely lost in sensation. John wasn’t sure how close Sherlock was to orgasm, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out, but he had promised Sherlock he would take care of him, blow his mind with focused sensation, so he couldn’t just stop now.   
And he had to admit he didn’t really want to. The sight of Sherlock like this, white skin flushed with arousal and crop-marked were making him hard. Apparently his body was completely on board with whipping Sherlock, reducing his flat mate to a moaning and shouting puddle right here in his bedroom. Deep voice reverberating in the open space, hips twitching invitingly. John had to wonder what it would feel like to touch the skin now, run his hands over Sherlock’s back and ass, slip his hands between his thighs, spread them open further, rub his hard cock against it…

Oh yes, his mind had come around. He was fairly sure he would be able to go through with it, to possess Sherlock completely. But not tonight. They would need to negotiate much more. They needed to lay down rules and pick Safe words and all that stuff. Tonight wasn’t about that. Tonight was about taking care of Sherlock, so John brought the crop down again and again, varying strength and location until Sherlock was keening and gasping, shouting in pain whenever a particularly strong blow fell.  
John could see Sherlock’s mind go offline. The moment it did his body went lax, shoulders sinking further into the sheets. His hips were still working in a sharp, almost desperate rhythm, so John let his hits get more steady, more level in strength though the location still varied. He’d finally taken Sherlock out of his mind, so he simply focused on providing Sherlock with the single sensation he’d demanded. John kept his focus on rhythm and pattern, pushing his own arousal and tired muscle to the back until finally Sherlock tensed all over before a full body shudder accompanied him over the edge.

Once Sherlock had stilled again John let the hits taper out, going lighter and slower until he once again simply ran the tip over sensitive skin, making Sherlock mewl and shiver in front of him. It should be funny, hearing Sherlock’s deep voice giving a kittenish rumble, but to John it was simply proof of a job well done. Carefully he lowered the crop to the floor and then stepped up to Sherlock’s head, checking him over clinically. His pupils were blown and his breathing level, his pulse was still quick, but not unhealthy. He seemed completely blissed out and John had to admit he was quite proud of himself.   
He had done this, had reduced his flat mate to this, this beautiful blissed out creature. Carefully he guided Sherlock up and onto the bed, laying him on his front beneath the sheets, stroking over his hair as he watched him come down, or rather fall asleep. Because Sherlock’s eyes didn’t clear, they merely fell shut at one point in time, his breathing evened out and once he was deep asleep his pulse went to rest with it.

John watched him sleep for a few more minutes before he rose. Immediately Sherlock stirred, whimpering faintly at the loss of sensation. But John just leaned down to place a quick peck on Sherlock’s brow before he hurried from the room. He was in dire need of a cold shower and aloe for the detective’s backside. Unfortunately the sounds of distress only became louder the farther John went, so instead of showering he grabbed the creme and hurried back.  
Sherlock had thrown off the sheet and was shifting restlessly on his side, arms outstretched in front of him. Sighing John took firm hold of Sherlock’s shoulders and rearranged him again, putting him firmly on his front before placing his arms at his side. Then he settled on the bed and began applying the salve carefully.

He wasn’t exactly surprised when one of Sherlock’s arms came to rest on his thigh, fingers lightly holding onto his pants leg. With a sigh John placed the creme on the bedside table and pulled the sheets up over Sherlock again. Then he settled against the head of the bed, gently running his fingers through sweaty strands. 

When it didn’t seem like Sherlock wouldn’t rest peacefully without him around, John quickly shook off his shirt and removed his pants, dropping both in front of the bed before he laid down. He might as well get comfortable if he was going to sleep here.


	16. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning finds Sherlock relaxed and worried all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, yes, so much for regular updates
> 
> I'm sorry to have kept you waiting so long. This chapter and the follow up are done. The second might go up in the evening ;)
> 
> Meanwhile I've written and posted a Gregory/Mycroft story that might, or might not, be set in the same verse. A Gregory/Mycroft backstory that might or might not be set in this verse is in the works and I will do my best to get more of this story out now that the lab has almost stopped digging its evil claws into me :)

When Sherlock woke he felt content. His mind’s palace was at rest, everything quiet and orderly, all the windows thrown open to let a gentle breeze sweep through it, shifting the curtains minimally. He wandered the halls aimlessly for a few hours, letting his mind pull him here and there, looking into familiar and unfamiliar rooms, taking in the changes that happened recently as he had added facts to the different room.  
He took his time to admire the big picture, the new floor-plans and additional windows and doorways before he ended up at the heart of it, where John’s room sat. The BDSM room had been shuffled to be right next to it and it had changed quite a bit. It was neat and orderly, so much so that there was a heavy index resting on the table at the centre, listing everything in the room along with reaction and aim. There was a connecting door to John’s room, which was open. And the room reserved for his flatmate had morphed as well.   
The doctor and the soldier had stepped into the background to leave more room for the Dominant, the in control personality that chose either profession to express itself.  
Sighing softly he made himself at home on the bed in John’s room, curling up on it and dozing, everything washing over him, the sounds and smells that were so uniquely John.

But then his foundation shook, the vessel demanding attention as he was pulled out of the mind palace and into complete wakefulness.

He was warm. Warmer than usual. Warmer than he should be with the current level of heating, the thickness of his blanket and the angle of the sun. And he was comfortable, body relaxed and cuddled against another. Ah, the source of heat. Opening his eyes he smiled as he saw John, dressed in only undershirt and pants, sprawled over half of his bed, still asleep. As he well deserved to be. Smiling Sherlock thought back to last night’s scene, floating along on the endorphine high a second time before he carefully pulled back. No need to wake John now when all Sherlock needed was a quick trip to the bathroom. He made sure to stay extra quiet as he went through his morning routine and then headed into the kitchen to prepare coffee, pulling on his robe almost as an afterthought.

Sherlock’s mind was whirling again, but it was in a more steady fashion. Unlike yesterday’s freight train this was more like the tube, moving from station to station at a sedate pace, taking on and unloading information as he came upon it, never loading excess baggage, focusing on the tasks at hand. Only one passenger remained the same. The scene of last night was still strong in his mind, running along with every thought as he tried to figure it out. It was always easier to do so afterwards, when the vessel was not overloading with sensation, when the foundation was steady and the walls thick.

He could see now what John had done and why he’d taken the steps he had. It had been brilliant, utterly brilliant and the effect almost magical. He’d dropped like a stone and not come up until morning. Even now he felt content and more in control of his mind than he’d done in a long time.  
It seemed like the scene hadn’t only grounded him, hadn’t just given the mind time to process, no it had also laid an additional foundation, walls and floors and ceilings gaining a few inches as the structure strengthened.

He could, unfortunately, even understand why John had kept it as non-sexual as he could, why he had kept his distance as he brought Sherlock ecstasy. He just hoped John would be interested in negotiating later today, because if John was not interested in a repeat performance Sherlock might well and truly go mad. After all this had been better than all of his previous scenes, with no artificial masks or strange games. Just straight forward action with John having a goal in mind and working to reach it while Sherlock sat back and enjoyed the effect.  
And John had enjoyed it as well, Sherlock was convinced of that. He’d heard the other’s rapid breathing, had felt the intensity a Dom could only achieve if he was enjoying himself. So if he played his cards right today, he would get John to agree with him, go along with this.

It would have the added benefit of binding John more closely to him. After all there would be no more half-hearted attempts at dating and Sherlock wouldn’t have to search for someone else to keep his mind on track. It was really the best solution for their situation.


	17. Waking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up is the easy part. Not to get out of bed and talk to Sherlock Holmes.

When John woke he did it to the sound of the coffee machine humming and the TV whispering the morning news, which was weird, because he couldn’t hear either from his bed.

Once he opened his eyes everything became clear however as he opened his eyes and was not faced with the normal piece of wall he looked at in the morning. Quickly the memories of last night resurfaced and John buried his face in his pillow with a sigh. Which wasn’t a good move, because it meant he got a good deep breath of his flatmate’s scent. It made him shiver and he wondered just what he’d gotten himself into.  
After all he really had no excuse. He had consented, had in fact called the shots, and thus had only himself to blame for the reaction Sherlock’s scent provoked now. At least John could be sure he’d done no undue damage, since Sherlock had gotten out of bed under his own powers and had not deigned to wake John in order to complain.

He just hoped his flatmate would give him time to wake up and decide just where he wanted this to go. Because there was no way he’d just jump into this head first. No matter what Sherlock thought, how far he’d assumed they’d got, there was still a lot John had to ensure first.

For example he needed to be sure that he was not starting something only to have to back out later. And he had to spend a bit of time thinking about his sexuality. Preferably without Sherlock interrupting and turning everything upside down. He could just be grateful that he’d slept in Sherlock’s bedroom because it meant he could slip into the bathroom without Sherlock stopping him.

Once in there he locked the door and started his morning business.

John stepped into the shower, happy to find that there was sufficient hot water. Which meant Sherlock hadn’t showered yet. Or he’d been up for a while so the water could heat up again. Either way John could treat himself to a long shower. And he could take care of unfinished business, as his body was quick to remind him. Not one to deny himself, John spread his legs, shifted so the hot spray would just run down his chest, and wrapped his hand around his cock. Without prompting the images from the evening before came back. Sherlock on his knees. Sherlock spread out on the bed. Sherlock, shuddering through an orgasm because John had whipped him.

John groaned and sped up his strokes, trying to imagine what it would have been like if he hadn’t simply brought Sherlock to orgasm. What if he’d stepped up to him and stroked those red marks, rubbed his dick against the other’s ass, pushed into him. The idea made him go weak in the knees. He knew what it felt like to have anal sex with someone. He could imagine the tight heat, the pressure, and the idea of possessing Sherlock like that, the consulting detective who couldn’t even get fetch his mobile out of his own jacket, sent fire through his veins. Especially since, from what Sherlock had told him before, he was free to claim him. Hell, John had been encouraged, even, to take hold of Sherlock, to hurt him and fuck him, to make him submit to his will. The ‘as long as it stays in the bedroom’ was the unspoken limit. And John would do his best not to cross it. At least until they had negotiated an exception.

When his orgasm washed through him John gritted his teeth, not wanting to call undue attention to himself. Especially since Mrs. Hudson was already out and about. He rinsed off once more and then stepped out, drying himself off with quick efficiency. Then all that was left was stepping outside and getting himself fresh clothes…from upstairs…which meant he would have to cross the living room and face Sherlock. Mortification settled in as he remembered that he’d just jerked off thinking about his flatmate on his knees. And that his flatmate wanted to be there didn’t help at all. They weren’t at that stage of their relationship yet. They were still feeling everything out. Hell no matter how good that orgasm had been John still wasn’t sure if his body was ready to go through with all this. Still, he couldn’t stay in here infinitely, so he wrapped a towel around his waist, gritted his teeth and unlocked the door.

No one waiting in front of the door, good. Taking a last calming breath he stepped out into the kitchen and stopped dead in his tracks when he found Sherlock at the table. But not because it was covered in microscopic equipment and experiment residue. No, in front of the detective was a table laid out for breakfast. The kitchen table. The place in the flat reserved for the consumption of meals could actually be used in that way. John had to blink a few times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

“Come now, John. Sit down before it gets cold”, Sherlock prompted, pointing to the bacon and eggs at the centre of the table, still sizzling in the pan. Apparently they’d been done mere seconds before he stepped outside.

“I…I need to get dressed first” And process this picture of madness. Quickly John hurried upstairs to throw on a pair of pants and a dressing gown before flying down the stairs again. The picture was just as bizarre when seen from this angle, but John made himself move and sit down facing Sherlock, disbelieve still obvious in his features.

Sherlock himself was looking a bit grumpy, likely due to the no longer frying state of their breakfast. His expression seemed to clearly convey ‘really John. Here I go to all the trouble of preparing you breakfast and you ruin it out of some faulty sense of modesty’

John, as the recipient of the stare, was just grateful that this was not some weird dream. No, Sherlock was still in there. And his sense of perfectionism was not lost just because he was doing something as pedestrian as preparing breakfast. So John did the only thing sensible and dug in.

Like every task Sherlock set himself, breakfast was executed to perfection. John was sure their flat hadn’t contained half of the necessary ingredients to create this, but he wasn’t going to complain. Instead he sat in content silence all through the meal, only occasionally praising Sherlock’s breakfast-making-skills, which had him preening just as if it had been a crime scene.

When breakfast was over, and John had been pleased to see that even Sherlock had eaten a fair share of it, the doctor held up his hand before Sherlock could so much as open his mouth to speak.

“No. We will not do this half naked. I’ll tidy away the dishes and then I will get dressed and afterwards you can have whatever discussion it is you want to have.”, he said, and to his greatest surprise - really, it was even greater than when he’d come outside and seen breakfast - Sherlock simply nodded.

“Yes, John. I’ll get dressed and get a print of my limits”, the younger said as he rose from his seat, happily leaving John with the tedious task of clean-up while he vanished in the direction of his bedroom.


End file.
